I’ve changed my mind on suicide

It’s weird, I came to wordpress to create an anonymous site documenting my journey to my, well demise, really. Then I discovered I already had one only a year or so old. My last post was “suicide isn’t the way” but since then I have changed my mind. It’s not your way, but my way. I’ve worried about writing about this pubically, I’m not endorsing suicide or death in any way. And if you haven’t sought the means to help your depression if you have it, or any other thing that may be making you think of doing this yourself, then I highly recommend treatment. Things can get better. Look online, look at all the success stories. Look at the people who have learned to live with their conditions through treatments such as therapy (CBT, talk therapies) and anti-depressants.

Let me be honest, none of those have helped. And maybe I haven’t given myself enough of a chance. But you know what? I’ve had an ambulance called on me/for me many times of late, each time because of a mix of medication/overdose I should not have taken, or the latest because my friend believed me to be behaving “erratically”. Personally, I think my shouting at him was warranted and long over-due. He has constantly been trying to sort out my life without concentrating on his own. He has addiction issues yet he concentrates on the medication I take, which isn’t legal or probably helpful in the long run, but I believe it helps me now, and with only little time to live, I doubt there’s much time for addiction. I’ve told him now, to take my “out” I gave him, as I’ve given all of my friends recently, an “out”. I’ve pushed them away, to their limits perhaps? I believe they could have taken some more, but at least they’ve pretty much all taken it. They’ve let me push them so far that they’re no longer friends, or even in my life at all. It’s what I wanted, but it still saddens me. I think about the friends that I had, and going out. About ordering pizza and drinking wine. My memories aren’t going away, at the moment the serve only as a hindrance. I’m trying to make them into what they are; simply good moments, even though fleeting, memories of times I enjoyed and even though I sometimes long for those moments back, I know it’s best for me to remember them only as in the past.

The future for me, looks, has for a long time looked, and I feel will be, bleak. When I look ten, even five years ahead, I see only black, or darkness. Is it because I am unsure? That’s what I used to think. Now I am sure, the blackness, the complete absence of any vision of what might be in my future, is death. Mine. By me. Sure, I can change that, but then my vision could change, right? But I don’t even see me disappointing my family and simply working away in retail. That thought alone would make me want to kill myself! ha. I don’t see myself doing anything fashion related. And my course, is fashion. I don’t see offices or any kind of living. Of course, this might be normal. But I know my destiny is not to live on this earth, anymore. How can one know such a thing? Because I destroy everything that is around me. My friends leave me because I am too negative, or they use me because I am easy to use as a doormat. I left those who thought me negative, or they left me. I left those who used me, because I no longer wish to be a doormat, I no longer wish to be alive.

The amount of times I’ve been to hospital with excess medication or a mix in my system, you’d think somebody would maybe try to help. But that’s not happening, I see the looks on the doctors and nurses faces. I hear their thoughts. Not literally, I hear no voices, but I feel I know they are thinking about my waste of space self lying on their beds. Healthcare is free, and they had to send paramedics to knock on the door of a girl because she was “behaving eraticaly.” That in itself must be boring, and when I told them I had a mix of three sleeping tablets, both them and me knew going to hospital would be futile and pointless, yet they have to, in their regulations somewhere. So at half 4 in the morning I was being poked and prodded, blood taken for the 4thish time in the past few months, again, coming back with nothing except low blood sugar. Telling me I need to eat more. Laughable, because I’m not losing, in fact I am gaining weight, no matter how much or little I eat. It’s funny if the paramedics had looked at my bedroom, at the mess surrounding the sofa in the middle of the room, maybe they’d have spotted the begining of my end.

I have been scrapbooking. Some are memories, good ones, bad ones. Some are pages taken from books I am inspired by, and some by those I am not. Practicing my final note, God if they’d seen that. You know how I know this time it’s not just a reaction to problems in my life? Not just the depression, anxiety talking. Because this time I really did not want anybody to see. I want to pretend everything is okay. I want to act like I’m okay. Before, there were subtle hints, hints I never knew I was giving, but I know now I was. I rang the Samaritans and told them I had coping mechanisms, they were impressed. I continued to lie through my teeth at how I was doing well despite wanting to die. Now I am thinking it wasn’t a cry, or in this case call- for help, but rather, to practice my “I’m okay” act. I have to check my methods, and my ideas before I go ahead. I have to check my thought process. I have to plan my funeral, the songs, do I want it traditional? Probably. I am a Christian, self claimed, but what kind of Christian has no denomination, doesn’t even read the bible. Could barely speak a passage. Yet expect a God, all knowing and all powerful, to accept that I couldn’t even pray to Him once a night or day. I couldn’t even read His scripture enough to understand Him. How can I expect to be let into the Kingdom of God when I have committed what is said to be The Ultimate Sin. I can then, only hope there is nothing, because eternal torment is what I want to escape, what i feel I am feeling every day by living. What’s the use if I am just going to die and go straight to eternal torment anyway?

I think too much. If you haven’t noticed. That’s part of the torment. My mind. It plays with me on a daily basis and it tells me I am unwanted and disliked by my peers, which I know at the moment is true. I know I am not yet a burden to my family, maybe a light burden due to the money I have borrowed, but I firmly believe I WILL become a burden to them if I chose to live and it finally became clear that I have not bothered attending University for months, not in the face of imminent death. I have not bothered with work much either, I’m am sure I will get the sack if I don’t smile, pretend something, lies again. I’m fed up of lying, and pretending, and being who I am not, or never wanted to be. I am ready to move on. I’m not kidding myself either. I know I am doing this for me, not my family. Maybe I am a coward and am too afraid to face the truth and them. Maybe. All I know, and care about, is that in four months, less, I will no longer be here.

 

I guess, this is my journey.

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